


Odd Birds

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anthropomorphic, Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pirates, Sexual Content, Sirens, Virgin John, Voyeurism, Winglock, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The two things most people knew about the ship Mélissa were this: it had the smallest crew of any notable pirate ships, and it almost always pulled in the biggest hauls. This was due to the rule of her captain, Sherlock Holmes.</i>
</p><p>  <i>---</i> </p><p>  <i>When the hatchling emerged from its shell, they discovered with confusion and no little horror that, beneath the soft feathers of the newborn, it had the genitals of a human male.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Odd Birds

**Author's Note:**

> If the first tags are confusing, it's because there's a little bit of dub-con but it's short lived and ends 100% consensual.
> 
> THIS IS A HORRENDOUSLY OVERDUE FANFIC FOR LAURA AND HER FABULOUS SIREN!JOHN THAT SHE DREW ME AGES AGO. [Here](http://99894845980439485.tumblr.com/post/46578377668/cute-bb-siren-john-i-think-this-is-the-best-out) and [here](http://99894845980439485.tumblr.com/post/46578439050/and-the-rest-of-them-so-much-siren-john-2).

The two things most people knew about the ship Mélissa were this: it had the smallest crew of any notable pirate ships, and it almost always pulled in the biggest hauls. This was due to the rule of her captain, Sherlock Holmes. What people knew about him was this: he was as quick in a duel of tongues as he was in a duel of pistols or swords, he was remarkably perceptive, he considered the rest of humankind not worth his time, mention of his brother (who held a small position in court) could result in loss of limb, and he was completely homosexual. Now, this may seem like quite a bit of information to go on, but, in reality, it’s not enough to prepare one for meeting the man himself.

His financial success was due to his ability to traverse siren-infested waters to distant, exotic cities. He would lock his entire crew below deck, wax in their ears, and sail the ship himself, immune to the allure of siren song. Thus was he able to trade merchandise few at home saw, and likewise bring the goods of his native cities to those to whom they were striking and new and equally rare.

The success of Holmes’ reputation was due to his apparent inability to empathise with another human being. His orders, threats, and approval—such as it was, and it was infrequent at best—were all issued in the same curt tone. There were no second chances. If he was not taken seriously, there was no opportunity for redemption. But he could read people and situations, and he could throw on a mask for any combination of the two in order to obtain the most profitable outcome.

To say he was tall and dark would be stating the obvious. He was not all that abnormally tall, but the way he carried himself and looked down at people made people feel small. His hair was dark, but no darker than a rich brown; his eyes were in fact quite light, often a grey when they weren’t reflecting the colour of seas and storms; his skin was startlingly pale for a man who lived and worked out of doors. His crew would say it was due to his habit of sulking and brooding and getting up to Poseidon-knew-what in his cabin. Days would go by where the only indications that he was still alive were the soft, hair-raising sounds of his violin.

 

There were always three in the matriarchy, but they were not always the same three. When the eldest drew near to death, the youngest would make the sacrifice of mating with the human males they drove into the sea—and still subsequently devoured—until she became pregnant. Once the daughter was reared and raised, the eldest would spend her last energies by diving into the sea, where she would rest with her countless predecessors, past mothers and sisters.

But two years ago, as the eldest’s feathers began to fade and fall, her voice grown weak, the youngest bore no daughter. When the hatchling emerged from its shell, they discovered with confusion and no little horror that, beneath the soft feathers of the newborn, it had the genitals of a human male.

They abandoned it at once to confer with one another. The mother of the abnormality was the first to declare it cursed and that it should be flown far away and cast into strange waters. The eldest, however, spent far more time considering the infant.

For she had long since been troubled and insulted by the gall of the Mélissa and her captain, the ease with which he traversed their waters, his bold dismissal of their song. Perhaps this first siren son was a gift from the gods, an answer to their disgrace.

“We shall raise him,” she declared, her tone allowing for no argument. “We shall raise him as we would any daughter. The gods have granted us this peculiarity, and we shall not toss it away like a bag of bones.”

The others agreed solemnly, and gave their word that, after the eldest had gone to meet their ancestors in the sea, they would not turn their backs on the boy.

 

A siren grows quickly, far more than a human child. At two, the boy was taller than his female companions, broader of shoulder, muscular, and with a voice unlike any other siren. While as sweet and skilled as the others, for the first six months of his mature life he failed to send a single sailor overboard.

The only promising moment was when a grand passenger ship risked their waters, and his song sent every woman overboard.

But passenger ships were rare in their waters, and so he took to sulking in the rocks of his home while his sisters sang men to their deaths. Weeks would go by where he refused to eat what they brought him, and only when he was too weak to argue would he oblige their commands and partake in a meal of human flesh.

Eventually he took to flying to the farthest corners of their rocky island, places his sisters were keen to avoid, to keep watch for approaching ships. As soon as a vessel entered their pass, he would soar back to his sisters and alert them. Whether or not this provided any gain, he certainly felt less useless.

One evening at dusk, after a long day’s watch, as he stretched and paced to keep himself awake, he spotted the smallest ship he had ever seen. He watched with disappointment as they laid anchor for the night. But it was a promise of a good meal tomorrow at least. He curled up on a comfortable rock and settled in for the night.

 

The crew of the Mélissa had long since learned to sleep through the uncanny music their captain played at the most inconvenient hours. For the night watch, however, it still raised the hairs on their arms and necks.

It echoed in the entrance to the sirens’ pass, and stirred the sleeping lookout. He had never before heard a human make music as beautiful and alluring as a siren’s own. Curious of its origins, he swooped down in the darkness to the hull of the ship. He latched onto timber and rope with practiced silence and scaled the ship until he could peer into the large windowed cabin above deck.

The captain of the ship was as breathtakingly beautiful as his music. Ducking out of sight, the siren opened his mouth and turned the solo into a duet.

 

Sherlock stopped playing as soon as he heard the siren singing. He’d never encountered one at the entrance of the pass before. Putting his violin and bow in one hand, he flung open his cabin door.

But his crew was unperturbed by the brief siren music.

“Something wrong, Captain?” one of his officers inquired.

“No.” He snapped the door shut behind him and stepped carefully across his room to the window. The moonlight betrayed no strange shadows on the water or in the air.

He set his bow to string once more, and resumed his playing, ears perked. In no time at all, the invisible siren rejoined him.

It was a wordless song, as all siren song is. But, unlike with his previous experience, Sherlock was not wholly unaffected by this voice. He was all too aware of this as the rest of his mind began to soften in a way no amount of opium could manage. And still he played.

He played, and the unseen siren sang, and never before had there been such a beautiful accompaniment for either.

“CAPTAIN!”

Sherlock didn’t know when he had set aside his violin, or when he had opened the window. He certainly didn’t remember climbing through it. But when the shout cut off the siren’s music, he found himself precariously perched on the sill.

He climbed back into his cabin with every ounce of grace, set his iron gaze on his lieutenant, and stated with an unnatural calm, “We appear to have a problem.”

 

When the sailor had shouted to his captain, the siren fluttered lower on the ship’s hull before flying back to his rocks. It had been dangerous to go so close to humans. He knew that, and yet he could not resist such beautiful music, or such a beautiful man.

He couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, but he dare not go back to his sisters in his agitated state. He prowled the rocks restlessly, every feather on his body stinging with want. He wanted that man, wanted to devour him. And yet something more, something he had never felt before. He could not understand it, and he feared asking the others. He knew they already looked at him strangely, no matter how well they treated him directly.

When dawn came, he lurched to the edge of his rocky outpost to watch the ship. At last, the anchor was reeled in, and the ship began to move. But something was off. Something was wrong. It was moving too slow.

The siren crept along the rocks to gain a better view. At last he could make out the figures on deck: there were only two. One sailor was at the helm, his hands lashed to the wheel. Even at this distance, the siren could smell fear and sweat on him.

The other figure was unmistakable. Chained to the mast, a cool but alert expression on his angular face, was the captain. He was stripped of all but a pair of loose breeches. The siren swallowed hard at the sight of the pale bare skin, the lithe body, sinewy muscle stretching the skin taut, the shadow of ribs.

With a sudden realisation, the siren knew he had crept too close. But he couldn’t manage to retreat. Why had the crew done this to their captain? Why was the man so at ease with it all?

He let out a few tentative notes.

The captain’s eyes went wide and his head turned in the siren’s direction.

The helmsman was watching intently, and he turned the wheel just slightly away from the siren’s direction.

As the ship crept along, closer to their nest and his sisters, the siren experimented a few more times. With each snippet of song, the captain’s body tensed against his fetters. He would turn in the direction of the music, and the helmsman would respond by steering away.

But before the siren could even think what his next course of action might be, he heard from above the songs of his sisters.

He watched the scene unfold. The captain went unaffected by his sisters, as the sailors had been unaffected by his own song. The helmsman fought his restraints, ignorant of his captain’s shouted commands. Once loosed from the ropes, he dove overboard. When it was clear no one else would join him, the sisters flew down to retrieve their drowning prey. He was dead before they returned to their nest.

The lone siren watched the ship drift with the current. It was hours before it finally emerged from the sirens’ nesting area. Still no one had emerged to survey the scene.

The captain was leaning exhausted against the mast, dehydrated and weary with strain. The chains kept him standing, though it was clear his legs had already given out.

The siren soared down and alighted on the mast some distance above the human. He clawed his way down slowly. He froze when the captain twisted his neck in an effort to look up.

“I know you’re there, beast.” His voice was cracked, but otherwise quite certain.

The siren fluttered down to the deck, crouched, ready to take off if danger presented itself, as he peered up at the human.

“Well,” the captain said, licking his dry lips. “That quite explains things.”

The siren circled the mast curiously. “What things?”

“Why, for the first time in ten years, I was affected by a siren’s music.”

He scrambled up the mast and hung his head upside-down in front of the captain’s. “How?”

One of the captain’s eyebrows arched elegantly. “I have little concern of women, be they humankind or monstrous.”

The siren sniffed the human’s hair and neck. The want he had felt last night was re-emerging. “But men?”

The human rolled his eyes. “Either you are as stupid as you are hideous, or you already know the answer to that.”

He hissed and leapt down to the deck, crouching lower than before, wings fanned open. “We are not the hideous creatures.”

The captain shrugged as much as his restraints would allow. “Regardless, I am curious as to why you have not killed and devoured me yet.”

“So am I.” He leaned forward, sniffing the bare feet and ankles, creeping up along the threadbare breeches.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s your nature,” the human scoffed.

“I don’t understand!” The siren stood up and gripped the human’s shoulders, face pressed close, glowering at him with a dangerous light in his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he growled.

“What don’t you understand?” Despite a fierce attempt to remain calm, the human was clearly shaken. His eyes grew a little wider, his breathing shallow.

“I want you,” the siren growled. He sniffed at the hollow in the human’s neck. He bared his sharp teeth for a moment before leaping back. “But I don’t want you.”

“You want to eat me, I suppose?”

“Yes. But no.” He squatted down and leaned back on his haunches, one arm wrapped around his knees, his other hand tracing the grains in the wood. His wings wrapped over his shoulders.

“Curious. Tell me, beast-”

The siren growled at him, meeting him with a dangerous look.

“Do you have a name?”

“Names aren’t important for us.”

The human gave an exasperated sigh. “Then what do you propose I call you?”

“Not beast. Or monster or animal or creature. That’s you.”

“No, my name is Sherlock Holmes.”

He crinkled his nose before trying out the name. “Sher-luck.”

“Close enough I suppose. Shall I call you siren then?”

The siren stood up and stretched his neck forward. “Give me a name.”

Sherlock pondered this before muttering, “I dare say it should be something simple. John. Will John be sufficient?”

“John. Joooohn.” The siren worked the name in his mouth before giving a nod.

“Fine. Now, I was going to ask you, John, have you ever copulated?”

The siren—John—snarled. “That is for my sisters, when necessary.”

“I see. I believe I can deduce your problem.”

John rushed up to him, pressing his face close again. “Tell me!” His wings rustled together in agitation.

“I believe you have a desire to copulate with me.”

With an offended hiss, John jerked back.

Sherlock grinned. “I thought as much. You don’t even fully understand your own nature.”

“Disgusting.”

“Not so. Come here, would you?”

John watched him warily, but he crept forward.

“You were quite intent on smelling me earlier. Why?”

The siren glared, but he could not give a response. He didn’t understand it himself.

“Would it be of assistance if you resumed?

“Why?”

“Perhaps you can find your answer through the senses you understand.”

Tentatively, John sniffed. He started at the bare shoulder, returned to the neck, the chest. He wrinkled his nose every time the chains interrupted the sweet smell of the human. He started prying them loose with terrifying strength. When all that remained were the cuffs around his wrists, keeping Sherlock fastened to the mast, he examined the uninterrupted flesh with a keener eye. He reached forward and pressed his fingertips to the skin. It fluttered at his touch. He looked up, but he found Sherlock smirking.

“Well? Do you believe me now?”

“No,” John snarled. To prove his point, he bit down on curve of Sherlock’s neck. When Sherlock yelped, though, he found himself unable to tear into the flesh. He pulled back and watched the drops of blood pool together and slide down Sherlock’s chest. John leaned forward and lapped them up. It certainly tasted good. So why shouldn’t he devour the man whole?

“That’s it,” Sherlock murmured.

The voice made John’s stomach twist with heat. He kept tasting parts of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, venturing evening to his collarbone. He resumed his first tentative touches, feeling bone and muscles beneath the skin, lingering on the racing heartbeat. When his fingers reached the cloth of the breeches, he snarled in the same way he had at the chains. In a fleeting moment of anger, he plunged his hand defiantly past the cloth. He had not expected to find a thick patch of curls, or the swelling flesh there. He certainly did not expect Sherlock to press into his hand.

“See?” Sherlock breathed. “Isn’t this what you want?”

John was ready to argue, to lash out, but the sound of movement below deck startled him. He heard the crew climbing upward. He pulled back and found Sherlock grinning.

“It was only a matter of time. And I seem to have kept you distracted long enough that we’re quite clear of your home.”

The siren looked up and saw the ship was well past his rocky islands. He screeched in fury, tore apart the chain between the metal cuffs on Sherlock’s wrists, and snatched the human’s arms in his taloned feet as he took off.

The human had clearly not expected this reaction. He twisted in the sharp grasp. “Let me go, you disgusting creature!”

There was cries of captain from below, but the siren flew steadily back to his nest.

 

His intent was to present the human to his sisters, but as he neared home he considered the questions this might bring up. He had broken so many of their edicts already. So he flew low past their nest, and then high to his own private perch. There he dropped Sherlock unceremoniously and alighted on a jagged rock. He watched with bitter amusement as the human scrambled to his feet, clutching at his scratched and bloodies arms, looking for a way to escape. But this spot was well hidden. Even his sisters didn’t know about it. The sea could barely be seen by the inset of rocks where the human was trapped.

Sherlock’s eyes settled on the siren at last. They were bright with anger. “You repulsive feathered brute,” he seethed.

The siren launched forward, knocking Sherlock to the ground with his feet. He made a tight circle before landing with a foot on his chest, one between his legs, and his hands pinning his injured shoulders. “Repulsive?” he said. “You tried to trick me.”

“Correction,” Sherlock scoffed. “I did trick you.”

The siren pressed his talons into Sherlock’s sternum, and the human cried out in pain. “Leave deception to those for whom it is natural.”

“Humans,” Sherlock grunted, “are quite naturals at it.”

“Pitiful.” He fluttered back to his perch, where he squatted as he watched the human.

Sherlock sat up, gingerly examining his new injury. “And here I thought you wanted to pin me down for a completely different reason.”

“Maybe I will,” the siren snarled. “Maybe I will, and then I can do with you what my sisters before me have done with their human males.”

“And what’s that?” Sherlock said, sounding far less sure of himself.

“Rip you piece to piece and gorge myself.” He leapt down and crept on all fours toward Sherlock. “You see, that is one benefit of having to copulate with you disgusting things. Afterward, we get an entire kill to ourselves. You may be skinny, but you could still satisfy me for a month.” He gave Sherlock a sharp-toothed smile.

“You know, there are other forms of satisfaction that don’t require killing and ingesting the other party.” Sherlock leaned forward, wincing at the pain in his stomach. “And they can last far longer than a few meagre weeks.”

“You can’t trick me twice,” the siren snapped.

Sherlock sighed and sat back. “Very well. Then be done with it. Slit my throat and bring me to your sisters for a grand feast. You’ve already got my helmsman. Why not make it a double course?”

The siren lunged with just that intent, mouth open and teeth pressed against the human’s throat. But once more he was unable to do more than that. Something unknown stopped him. With a maddening screech, he took off and circled above before heading back to the nest.

 

He flew off most of his anger on his way back to the nest. His sisters were sleeping off their meal, so he ate the portion left for him quickly before taking wing once more.

He hadn’t been gone all that long when he returned to his hidden perch. When he landed just below, he heard strange noises coming from the human. Almost like grunts, but not quite. He peered over the edge and saw Sherlock in a peculiar position.

He was leaning back against the rocks, the breeches pulled down to his ankles, one hand around his genitals, the other hidden underneath him. The siren shifted his angle and was confounded to see Sherlock had two fingers plunged into his own anus.

The human made a loud creaky sound and his complex motions stilled as a thick white liquid spurted out where one would usually expect urine to expel.

The smell was intoxicating.

The siren clambered over the rocks and landed on talons and hands in front of Sherlock. “What was that?” he demanded loudly.

Sherlock shouted in surprise, his fingers coming loose from his anus and his other hand releasing his genitals.

John leaned forward and sniffed the fingers first, wrinkling his nose and turning at once to the white liquid on the other hand and genitals. It made him dizzy, and something in his own body squirmed eagerly.

“Are you quite finished?” Sherlock growled.

John glared up at him, but he sat back on his haunches.

Sherlock wiped his hands on his breeches and pulled them back up. “Were you watching me?”

He nodded unabashedly. “What was that? What were you doing? Why did you have your fingers-”

To his surprise, Sherlock started to laugh. “You’ve never even experienced an erection, have you?”

“A what?”

“Gods, you’re like a child.”

John sneered.

“Would you like me to show you?” Sherlock leaned forward

The siren scrambled back. “Don’t touch me.”

Sherlock looked him over slowly, still smirking. “Do you even have a proper prick?”

“A what?”

“A penis.” Sherlock indicated his own genitals, no longer as swollen has they had been a moment ago.

“Yes.” John brushed aside his feathers to show his own. He was horrified to find it significantly larger than its usual size, and not nearly as flaccid. So that was the odd sensation he had been feeling. “What’s wrong with it? You cursed it, didn’t you!” He shot Sherlock a scathing look.

“No,” Sherlock chuckled. “Not as such. You sirens are a peculiar lot. Don’t even understand your own bodies.”

“No one ever told me about this! What’s wrong with it?”

Sherlock’s expression hardened. “You’re the first male siren, aren’t you?”

John covered himself up. “What business is it of yours?”

“Well, it would explain why you don’t understand how arousal works. Your sisters probably wouldn’t know where to start with an explanation. I doubt they pay much attention to that sort of thing when raping their prey.”

“What is that word? ‘Raping’?”

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. “You don’t even know enough to have morals.”

John bristled. He wasn’t entirely sure what Sherlock was saying, but he had the feeling he was being debased again.

“Would you like me to explain your condition to you then?”

John’s gaze narrowed. “Why would you do that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “You intrigue me. I’m curious as to how you will react.”

The siren fluttered his wings and straightened his back. “Not long ago you called me an ugly beast.”

“Did I?” Sherlock looked midly surprised. “I suppose I did. But you already know I was lying to you. I was trying to get you riled up.”

“To trick me.”

“Yes.”

“But now?”

“Now I have nowhere to go.” Sherlock gestured to his rocky prison. “And I’m growing increasingly bored.”

The siren huffed, unimpressed, and flew up to a small overhang. The food was sitting heavy in his stomach. He curled up and watched the human watch him until he dozed off.

 

Once the siren fell asleep, Sherlock relaxed. He had already looked around the natural enclosure before coming to the obvious conclusion that he would not be able to escape, certainly not in a starved and dehydrated state. Then he had settled to do the one thing he could do to help his situation: wank. In his exhausted state chained to the mast, he had been unable to keep his arousal at bay with the siren exploring his body. Once alone, with nothing better to do, and with half an erection already, he had decided the least he could do was give his body some form of relief.

He took another look around, but the rocks were too high and steep, and his body too uncertain at the moment. What he’d give for his violin at the very least. He thought briefly about his crew, but there was no question about their course of action. They would finish their current transaction and then risk one last trip through the sirens’ pass. Whoever survived would make for home and split among them what the crew of the Mèlissa had accumulated over the years, including Sherlock’s share. They might even sell the ship herself. It depended on who was among the survivors.

Word would eventually spread that Sherlock Holmes had finally gone to Poseidon’s bed to rest. Things would be boring again. No one would care about that bit, though.

The rest was sentiment, and no one would have any for the man who had none. The only mourners would be the traders who lost a fair bit of business with his death, but they would make it up elsewhere.

And that was all if Sherlock was unable to find a way to get himself free. While he was physically unable to escape on his own, he had not given up on manipulating the male siren. It would take time, which was tedious, but as long as he could manage it before dying from thirst or hunger, he had a fair amount of certainty it could be done.

For the time being, he settled into the most comfortable spot of rock he could find and watched his captor.

 

The siren woke at dusk. He stretched limbs and wings before looking about sleepily. He was reminded of the human below and what had transpired over the last day and night. The human was watching him. He looked ill.

John sprawled lazily on his ledge and called down, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’re dying.”

“Well, you might be able to go weeks without food, but human bodies tend to need it more frequently.”

“How frequently?”

“Traditionally, twice a day. Myself, I am accustomed to days with little food. However, four days had already passed since my last filling meal when you abducted me.”

The siren nodded and took off. It didn’t take long to catch a couple fish and carry them back. He dropped them before Sherlock and perched on a rock across from him.

“Am I your pet now?” Sherlock smiled as he said this. He reached for one of the dying fish and broke its neck with his hands.

“Pet?” John cocked his head.

“It’s an animal you keep. You feed it, give it a place to live.”

“Why?”

Sherlock shrugged. “The idea has never held appeal to me.” He worked at peeling away the fish’s scales. “You wouldn’t happen to have kindling for a fire, would you?”

John snorted and settled down to watch the human struggle.

“Didn’t think so.” At last he managed to bite into bare flesh. He wasn’t ravenous, but he was hardly delicate with his meal. Once he had gnawed off as much flesh as he could, he started on the second. When he was finished, he wiped his hands on his breeches. “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

John glared at him, feathers bristling. “Sleep.”

After considering his few options for longer than necessary, Sherlock relented. He curled up on the rock and closed his eyes.

It was a long time before the human actually fell asleep. John watched him, his curiosity ever-growing. The sun set, and a wind whistled into the cradle of rocks. He watched the human shiver in his sleep, and eventually shake so badly he woke up.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s cold.”

John sniffed the air. It did smell cold. “So?”

“Humans’ skin is thin. We can’t keep ourselves warm without clothes.”

“No clothes here,” John snickered.

“Clearly.” Sherlock curled up again with his back to John. His body continued to tremble.

John went off in search or something. They usually digested clothes whole with the bodies of their prey. But as he searched the narrow island, he had an idea.

He returned to Sherlock some time later with a large quantity of feathers in his hands and talons. He released them over the bluing body. Before Sherlock could say anything, John went off for a second batch.

He made three trips in total, and by the end of the third he had brought enough feathers to cover Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t manage to say anything. Once warmed, he was quick to fall back to sleep.

 

The siren had positioned himself for the night in a spot where he could watch Sherlock, but where it would be hard for Sherlock to spot him. In the morning, the human rose at dawn and brushed off the layer of feathers. He looked around cautiously before going to the least steep of the walls and attempting to scale them. He didn’t make it far before sliding back down. He tried in several more spots before John finally emerged with a laugh.

“Any luck?”

“No,” Sherlock replied calmly. “But it appears you’ve been watching me, so you already know that.”

John nodded and flew down to his perch.

Sherlock sat cross-legged in front of him. “Why are you keeping me here? Alive.”

“I don’t know,” the siren replied, brow furrowed. He had thought hard about it through the night, but he still didn’t understand it. He couldn’t kill the human, but he also couldn’t release him. He wanted him right where he was, where John could get to him.

“I do.”

“Tell me.”

“I already did. You have a desire to mate with me.” And, as if he had read John’s thoughts, he added, “It prevents you from eating me, but it also prevents you from letting me go or leaving me here to die.”

“Sirens don’t want to mate,” John scowled. “We only do it when he have to, when one of us is dying.”

“Oh?”

The siren nodded adamantly. “When the eldest sister is dying, the youngest mates until she is with child.”

“Then what of you?”

John started. “What?”

“You’re not a sister. And few women come this way. What happens when the eldest begins to die? Certainly they can’t rely on you to produce another child.”

John opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find a response. He hadn’t thought into his own future. They would have no use for him. Would the sister who bore him bear another? Would he be cast out, or killed? Or politely, if unwillingly, accepted as he had always been, until it was his turn to die?

“If that’s the way you plan to go about things, then you’ll never have the opportunity to experience copulation.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “I don’t want to. You humans are loathsome. I’m glad I won’t have to mate with one of you.”

“Shame,” Sherlock sighed. “Such a stunning creature.”

“What happened to ‘ugly beast’?”

“I did say I’d been lying to you then. In truth, I find you quite fascinating. Being able to see a siren up close—and live—well that’s quite the opportunity.”

John continued to side-eye him.

“Would you be willing to return yesterday’s courtesy and allow me to examine you?”

“Why should I?”

“Neither of us has anything better to do, and I am quite sincerely curious.” 

John climbed down from his perch and stood straight. “Very well. No tricks.”

“No tricks. Besides, I’m quite sure you could break my neck with little effort.”

The siren nodded with a smirk. “Very little.”

The human began by circling him, hands clasped behind his back. He did this twice before stopping in front of the siren and holding up one hand, waiting for permission.

John’s sight fell on the still-shackled wrists, and the raw skin from where the metal still rubbed. “Wait.”

Sherlock began to drop his hand, but John caught it. He pried apart the manacle with a quick snap. Surprised, Sherlock gave him the other hand. Once both were freed, he nodded for Sherlock to continue.

The human’s long thin fingers first touched the skin of his shoulder and arms. Then he reached back and combed them through the feathers of a wing. John shivered with—he couldn’t name the feeling. Anticipation? Delight?

Sherlock dropped into a squat and studied the tapered feathered legs and tough-skinned feet and sharp talons. He touched each carefully. Then he touched John’s leg again, higher than the first time, where the feathers were smaller and scarcer.

Without warning, he brushed aside the thick feathers at his groin and stroked John’s genitals.

The siren shrieked and jumped back, kneeing the human in the process. Then John swooped on him, pinning him to the ground. “Don’t do that,” he hissed.

“Why not?” Sherlock wheezed, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

“It feels strange. I don’t like it.”

“Are you sure you don’t?” He smiled. “I think you might, if you give it a chance.”

John just kept glaring down at him.

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Show me what?” He crept off of the human.

Sherlock sat up and scooted back. “What I was doing yesterday. You only saw the very end after all.”

John wasn’t sure what to make of this smile Sherlock was giving him, but he was so very curious. He nodded. “Show me.”

Sherlock made a seat out of the feathers and stripped off his breeches.

The siren wetted his lips as he watched. He couldn’t understand his desires. He wanted to taste that skin, bite it even, but not eat it. It was too confusing.

Sherlock settled onto the feathers. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and began to suck them. After he had done this, he reached down and began inserting one of the wet fingers into himself.

John winced. It didn’t look very comfortable. Although, the human seemed to be enjoying the sensation.

Sherlock wrapped his free hand around his penis. John watched with rapt fascination as it began to swell in Sherlock’s hand. Meanwhile, Sherlock was inserting a second finger.

A strange heat surged through John. He looked down and, brushing some feathers away, found himself already partially engorged. When he looked back up, he found Sherlock smiling at him, eyes heavily lidded, face flush.

“Well?” Sherlock panted.

“What do I do?” the siren whined. He felt desperate, but he wasn’t sure what for.

“You have a few options,” Sherlock said breathily. He continued to move his hands inside and around himself. “You could try what I’m doing. At least this bit.” He twisted his hand as he pulled on his penis and groaned. Once he caught his breath enough to speak again, he continued, “I could do it for you, or you could fuck me.”

“I don’t understand,” he cried, wrought with frustration.

“It means putting your prick inside me. You’ll figure out the rest after that.”

John looked baffled at his penis, then at the fingers moving in and out of Sherlock’s anus. “Will it fit?”

Sherlock huffed a laugh. “Oh gods, yes.” He removed his fingers fully and let go of his penis. “Let’s just... slick it up, first.” He motioned for John to come nearer.

Somewhere in John’s mind, some of his instincts were telling him this was a bad idea. The rest was urging him on, and far too much to fight against.

“Have a seat,” Sherlock said.

Once he had lowered himself onto the pile of feathers before Sherlock, the human dove forward. In one fell swoop, he gathered the siren’s penis into his mouth and began to suck.

John yelped, fully prepared to push the human away, but that one suck rendered him speechless. Speechless, but not silent. He squirmed and whimpered as the heat grew in him. He thought he would catch fire, wondered how he hadn’t already. He wasn’t sure even Poseidon’s waters could cool him down.

When Sherlock sat up, his lips looked swollen and wet, and John’s penis was as big as it had ever been. And aching.

“Why did you stop?” he demanded.

Sherlock chuckled. “I thought you were going to fuck me. We just needed to get you wet and to size. And my, my. What a size.” His eyes fell slowly down the length and girth of John’s prick. “If I didn’t know you were the only male siren, I’d ask if all you boys were so well-endowed.” His eyes flashed up to John. “Well, how do you feel about all of this now?”

Agitated. But not necessarily in a bad way. In fact, he finally knew—or rather accepted—what he was itching for. He rammed into Sherlock, knocking him back into the feathers. He licked at the skin of his neck and shoulders and chest, biting hard enough to leave marks, but light enough so as not to break the skin. He did want to devour this man, but not as he had always thought of the word.

Beneath him, Sherlock moaned. He reached around John to run his fingers through the feathers of John’s wings, and John trembled with pleasure at the sensation.

“Mate,” John growled against Sherlock’s neck. “I want to copulate with you.”

“Thanks the gods,” Sherlock breathed. He pushed John away just enough that he could roll over onto his front. He stuck his rear up, spreading his knees. “Just go in. Start slow.”

John crawled on his knees until he could line his hard penis up with Sherlock’s wet, stretched anus. He still wasn’t sure it would fit, but he pressed inside. Amazingly, it slid in.

Sherlock groaned beneath him, urging him on with “yes, good, yes, more” until John was as far in as he could get. Sherlock’s hips twitched and lurched beneath him, sending pleasure through John like he’d never imagined.

“What do I do now?” he keened.

“Just- go. Move your hips. Just do what feels natural.”

He’d been given that advice before, when he was being taught to fly. It had worked then. So he took a deep breath now and let his body tell him what it needed to do.

His hips lurched. And that felt very, very good. He put more force into the next one, and Sherlock mewled. Yes, very good. He gripped Sherlock’s hips and thrust. Again and again. Faster. And soon his body went into an arrhythmic speed all of its own.

The climax was hot and overwhelming and he shouted when it came. He hadn’t expected anything like it. It washed over him like a summer wave. He was shaking, his knees ready to give out, and Sherlock was still pushing back onto him. He had a hand on his penis, rubbing it until the white stuff emerged, and his body squeezed around John.

John gave another yelp, finding his penis overly sensitive. He pulled out as soon as he could, terrified to find he, too, had emitted the same liquid. “What is it?” he demanded, his head spinning.

Sherlock fell flat on the feathers, rolling onto his side. He chuckled when he saw what the siren was indicating. “It’s natural. It’s called semen.”

“Seamen?”

“Close enough.” Sherlock smiled. “So, what do you think of copulation now?”

He wanted to say it was strange and terrifying, and the last bit was horrific. But it hadn’t been, not entirely, and now a strange euphoria was settling on him. He picked himself up and lay down behind Sherlock. He draped an arm over Sherlock’s waist and, with one wing, shielded them both from the sun.

“What’s this?” Sherlock murmured.

“Pet,” the siren replied sleepily.

“That’s not exactly what I meant when I said-”

“Pet,” he growled.

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed. “I supposed I can try explaining when you’re not post-orgasmic.”

John wasn’t sure what Sherlock was saying, but he didn’t much care. This human was very different from any other, that much he was certain of, and he was willing to keep him for the time being.


End file.
